The King of Denmark
by Thursday 22
Summary: After Hamlets death, Horatio is having a hard time dealing with the fact that his friend is gone. Dreams plague his sleep and he has a difficult time realising what is reality and what is just fantasy. Based on John Marsdens book Hamlet.


**Author's note: Hello, all! I just thought that I'd warn you that this fanfic is based on John Marden's book Hamlet, which is basically the same as the real Hamlet by goes into more detail and is set in modern times :D **

_Stuff written in italic's means that I have taken it straight from the novel. :)_

**Now, on with the story! Hope you enjoy! **

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><p><em>"I suppose I am King of Denmark for these few brief moments. Let the crown pass to Fortinbras, Horatio." He raised his voice and shouted through the great hall "I am Hamlet, King of the Danes and I say the crown shall pass to Fortinbras."<em>

_"Your Majesty," Horatio murmured to him. "It shall be as you say. Fortinbras."_

_Hamlet coughed and cramped and coughed again, then whispered to Horatio, "The rest is silence"_

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><p>If you could manipulate the wheels of time and change what had passed, would you? What would you change? An embarrassing moment, perhaps. Or a fatal mistake. Would you save a loved one from passing? Who would you save? A power-hungry King who had no right to the throne? A Queen who'd willingly been misled? A betraying friend who had made amends? A beautiful girl turned mad? Or your best friend, your brother in arms?<p>

Horatio lay in bed and knew his choice.

It had been a long and strenuous day. After the tragic events in the great hall, a council meeting had been summoned and a temporary Regent of Denmark had been elected. None other than the unwilling participant, Horatio. After discussing the funeral arrangements the council meeting had adjourned leaving Horatio feeling like he was betraying his best friend.

Disturbed by his thoughts, Horatio rose from his bed and started to pace, thinking the whole time of what he could have done to prevent Hamlet's death. Maybe if he had tried harder to steer Hamlet away from fighting Laertes. Maybe then Hamlet would be King today instead of Horatio as temporary Regent. Walking over to a chair that lounged by the fireplace Horatio sat and thought about the utter ludicrously of him ruling a country, even if it was for a week or two. How Hamlet would laugh if he could see Horatio now. Reflecting, Horatio gazed into the fire as silent tears trickled down his face, wishing that he could change the outcome of this day.

Slowly Horatio drifted into a trance where he was neither awake nor asleep. It was just him and his thoughts, his mind replaying the event's leading up to the ill-fated swordfight between Laertes and Hamlet, Osirc speaking to Hamlet and himself, Hamlet telling Horatio how sick at heart he felt, Horatio telling Hamlet to acknowledge what he felt, Hamlet denying his feelings and the strange speech he made.

_"No, no. I defy these feelings. When a sparrow falls from the sky, it affects the whole universe. If something happens now, it won't happen later; if it happens later it won't happen now. Since no one leaves with anything, what does it matter when we leave?"_

Before he drifted into the gentle embrace of sleep Horatio wished more than ever to be able to change the past.

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><p><em>"Your Majesty, I could do it now. I'll hit him now." <em>

_Both of them knew of the deadly venom on Laertes' sword. They knew because they had anointed the tip themselves, not much more than half an hour earlier. None but they knew. They were a pretty pair, these two, one intent on power, one on revenge and both riddled through and through with the most potent force of all, hatred._

_"No, no" the King mumbled. "Not now."_

_"This is not the time to be troubled by conscience" Laertes whispered as if to himself. "Even so I am troubled..." _

_But no one heard him say it, so perhaps he did not say it._

_They all heard a scornful Hamlet. He had cast his mother away. She staggered, although he had used no force. Now he challenged Laertes. "Come for the third round, Laertes. You are wasting our time. Don't you take me seriously? Or are you getting nervous?"_

_"Say you so?" Laertes bellowed "Come on then."_

_He rushed out in a clumsy charge more fitted to a drunk farmer trying to drive a cow into a bail. Hamlet was disconcerted and missed an easy chance for a hit. For a few moments the young men, so graceful and accomplished in the previous round, fought with the skill of five year olds wrestling in a sandpit. They met and grappled and parted again, three times, except as they parted from the third grappling both stabbed at each other. They turned to the judge, each hoping he might have nicked the other._

_There was a pause then the judge, an old man named Voltimand, said quietly, "Nothing either way"_

_Hamlet grimaced and made to step back, to ready himself for the resumption. As he did, Laertes now chaotic with rage, shouted, "Have at you now" _

Almost automatically Hamlet raised his rapier and barely deflected the stab towards his arm. Pushing Laertes back Hamlet discarded his weapon away and threw himself upon the young man who had once been his friend and who, unbeknownst still to Hamlet was plotting his downfall along with his Uncle.

The two fought furiously and had to be dragged from each other. The moment they were released both rushed for their rapiers and picked them up.

"You've got the wrong ones," called Osric, but either man took notice. Hamlet heard the words but attached no importance to them. Either sword suited him well enough. Laertes heard the words but did not understand them until sudden tearing pain burned into his heart. It all happened so quickly. The cut on his chest was nothing yet it was everything. The pain should have been slight but it was the bearing of a deeper pain that could not be borne. Laertes dropped to one knee, realising with awfulness what had happened and now hearing Osric's words properly. "The wrong sword," he whispered, "the wrong sword."

Hamlet upon seeing his opponent drop to one knee at a mere scratch lowered his rapier and bent next to Laertes.

"Laertes my friend, are you all right?"

"All right? No Hamlet, all wrong."

Hamlet called a stop to the fight and beckoned Osric over to attend Laertes.

Then through a dense thundercloud he heard someone call "Look after the queen, something's wrong." Quick as lightning Hamlet sprung to his feet.

"She's fainted."

"Get a doctor."

Laertes looked up and saw Horatio at Hamlet's side. To his right he saw the Queen lying on the floor surrounded by attendants. He heard Hamlet asking, "The queen? My mother? What is wrong with her?"

From the throne came the King's frightened voice. He seemed unable to move. "She swoons to see her son bleed."

Closer Osric asked "My lord, are you alright? What is it? Are you hurt?"

Before Laertes could form an answer, the Queen's voice suddenly shrill with fear, cried, "No, no, the drink, oh God, the drink, it was poisoned. Dear Hamlet, I am poisoned."

Despair filled Laertes. His voice filled the hall, even though he did not seem to speak any louder than usual. "Like a rabbit caught in his own trap, Osric, I am killed with my own treachery." All eyes turned to him. He forced himself to stand. When he did he found himself confronting Hamlet again.

The Princes' face was pale, his face demented. "Let the doors be locked!" Hamlet shouted. "There is villainy here. There is treachery. I will seek it out."

Laertes felt an extraordinary calm. A new strength entered him, to sustain him for the last few moments of his life. "You do not have to seek far, Hamlet" he said, "It is here, in me. Hamlet, you would be murdered had I cut you. The weapon is in your hand: the sword you hold is poisoned. It is I who applied the poison to it, and it is fitting that the foul wasp has turned on me and has stung me as well. Your mother has sipped poisoned wine, which was also meant for you."

With no warning, all his strength rushed from him. He was staggered by its swiftness. He dropped to his knees. No act in his life took more resolve than the simple raising of his hand to point at the King. "There is your enemy", he said. With a sudden surge, a last expression of the life force, he stood, and then in an instant fell forwards, lifeless, hitting the hard stone floor with a thud that must have broken every bone in his face.

To see Horatio now was to see love at work. His expression was as demented as Hamlet's but stood by his friend who was shocked into silence, and shouted to the servants to carry out his Prince's orders. "Seal the doors! Let no one leave. Let no one draw a weapon, should he set any value on his life. Hamlet, over here."

He tried to draw Hamlet to a seat but the Prince threw him off easily and he staggered to his mother. He had so much he wanted to explain to her. He wanted to tell her all the reasons he had, for everything he had ever done, everything. But time had lost interest in them both. Time had already turned itself to other affairs. Gertrude had slipped away while the men were shouting, her tortured soul gone to another world where her first husband awaited her and her second was about to join her. Her eyes were closed and her skin cooling. Hamlet wanted to shout and scream at the world but restrained himself, for now, he had another task to perform. His failure to execute it had caused chaos. It had caused tragedy. Through a haze of rage and sorrow Hamlet felt Horatio lay a hand on his shoulder. Slowly Hamlet rose from where he was sitting beside his mother and stood staring at the king, his uncle, his step-father. His father's murderer.

"Horatio, fetch me my rapier." Hamlet said quietly, his voice as cold and hard as steel. He felt Horatio's comforting presence leave his shoulder, only to return seconds later with the poisoned blade that had caused so much pain. Hamlet gripped the pommel and slowly slid his fingers down the handle. As soon as Hamlet's hand had found the rapier, Horatio had disappeared for a split second only to return again. But Hamlet didn't care; he only had eyes for Claudius.

Claudius trembled to see him coming, as would any grown man. Hamlet took the image of a true king, with a rapier down by his side glinting evilly in the candle-light he stood tall and imposing, no expression could be seen on his face. Only his eyes betrayed the emotion he was feeling.

"Guards", Claudius called feebly, "guards, seize him."

"Let no one move!" bellowed Horatio. He held a rapier in each hand. Feet apart, he faced the guards. "Move, and I'll skewer you."

No one moved and Claudius watched the terrible spectre come at him. Hamlet's face appeared to be all stubble and eyes, not grey any more but white, with no discernible pupils. He was relentless. Claudius found enough spirit in his cowardly being to stand. The sword ran him through. A cold line went through him from front to back and the King understood that nothing would ever be the same again. The line ignited and turned to fire inside him, an awful fire that burned everywhere and could not be put out. "Guards," he whispered, "guards, I am not yet dead. I might yet live. Put a stop to this. Stop him."

No one responded.

"Not yet dead?" the ghastly apparition screeched at him. "Then try this." The Prince's hand was now at his face; the back of the hand hit him and it hurt, how it hurt; didn't the Prince realise he was hurting him? He should stop. Claudius's mouth was forced open and cold wine was splashing inside him. Perhaps it could put out the fire. The King drank eagerly. Yes, it was working, the fire was going out, the furnace in his stomach was becoming cold. The cold travelled down and down and wrapped itself around the fire, like ice in a desert it extinguished the fire deep inside him. It continued until there was nothing but the cold. The cool instead of the fire brought relief that washed over him and embraced him like a lover. Then it became too cold. Cold to a point upon where it was freezing. Cold to a point where it was _burning_. With the cold came a blackness so deep in both colour and depth that Claudius was lying in it, falling into it, drowning in it. Both the cold and the black over-powered all his senses including breathing. The King drew his final breath as his eyes rolled back into his head and he died.

Hamlet stood over Claudius's body breathing hard and gazed at his Uncle with cold and uncaring eyes. Finally his revenge was served out in full, the task his father's ghost had set him was done and finally he may have a chance at a normal life. The people in the hall fled in horror, not at what Hamlet had done, but of what Claudius had done. Finally only Hamlet, Horatio, a few guards and the old judge Voltimand remained.

Turning around Hamlet faced Horatio. The young men's eyes met and Horatio saw sorrow, relief, helplessness and horror at what he had done in his friend's eyes. Hamlet looked as though he was seeking reassurance that the deeds he had done were justified.

"Whatever you may think, you have done the just thing", Horatio said in his matter-of-fact way.

"Maybe", was Hamlet's reply. "Fitting that he should die by both evils he created. The poisoned blade and the poisoned chalice"

Stepping up, the old judge Voltimand kindly placed his hands on both Hamlet's and Horatio's shoulders. "Come away, My Lords. We have much to do. Our duties lie elsewhere now. It is over. We must prepare the kingdom for the news and begin the funeral rights. My Lords, come away."

Hamlet stood there for another minute taking in the sight of his mother's body. One of the guards handed him a cushion. Carefully he knelt down and placed the pillow under his mother's head. Stroking her cheek once he climbed awkwardly to his feet and allowed Voltimand and Horatio to lead him out of the great hall.

Pausing at the doors he turned and looked back at destruction that power, revenge and hatred had caused. His grey eyes were haunted and displayed a wisdom beyond his young years.

"The rest is silence" He whispered to no one in particular.

Turning his back on the hall he squared his shoulders, straightened his back and lifted his proud white head and strode off down the hall with Voltimand and Horatio in tow, disappearing from sight.

_"The rest is silence" _

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><p>Horatio woke from sleep with a strangled yell and stumbled out of the chair in which he had fallen asleep in. The fire had burned itself down to smouldering coals and the open window showed it to be early morning before sunrise. Slowly walking to the open window Horatio pondered on his dream. Was it a dream or was it reality? Surely a dream could not be so real. A pair of birds flew past, twittering and dancing in the sky as the sun's first rays hit his face. The only noise that could be heard for miles was the twittering of the bird's calls and the soft rustle of the leaves as the wind played with the trees. Dream or reality?<p>

Then the great bells at the church chimed seven times and Horatio knew it was all a dream. The bell only rang seven times if a member of the royal family was dead.

Turning away from the window, Horatio shed a single tear as he prepared to face the rest of his life without the friend he cherished.

Outside the window three white swans could be seen taking off from the river near the cemetery and fly upwards to the heavens. A voice drifted through the window.

_"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio, or mine..."_

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><p><strong>So there you have it! Oh look, a button...I wonder what that does? If you press it I will give you a virtual cookie and maybe pet rock... Just saying!<strong>

**Review :)**


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